To the Death
by Paul-Agnew
Summary: What would you be willing to sacrifice to help a friend? Time? Money? Even your life?


A warm and vitalising light pierced through the seemingly unending darkness, as the sun began its daily trek over the horizon. To some, the simple sunrise signified a new beginning of sorts. It brought not only life-giving rays of energy, but a wealth of new opportunities and new conquests. Dilemmas from yesterday were just that, a thing of the past. The opportunity to awaken anew, ready and willing to grasp the day with both hands and write the next chapter of one's destiny the way they wished? To some, a new day was a true blessing.

To others, it brought true tragedy.

A sliver, no more than a spec on the horizon, appeared before the rising sun. As the glowing sphere increased in size, so too did the object, it's features completely silhouetted. Constantly moving, the dark shape grew larger, almost threatening to consume the sun itself.

But it wasn't moving upwards.

The figure was moving _forwards_.

Eventually the sun peaked over the horizon, leaving only the ominous being standing on the rough concrete ground. Having briefly paused, they turned away from the sun and continued trudging towards a large sign marked "Now Entering City".

For a weekday, traffic was virtually non-existent, which made traversing the bridge slightly easier. Had there been any travellers on the motorway, a few heads might've suspiciously turned to the figure. Not that they would've given it a second thought, mind. Of all the irregular events and bizarre sights, most of which seemed to originate from the City Park, seeing a cloaked person carrying a bundle of blankets roughly the same size as itself across a bridge walkway didn't seem of much concern. And the enigmatic traveller knew that.

Time passed agonisingly slow as they walked deeper into the City. Every muscle in their body felt either pulped or burnt alive, and their stumbling had become far too frequent. Painfully, a wing reached out to press against a brick wall as the traveller rested. They looked across, now able to gain a better view of the damage. What was once a majestic primary coloured wing had become an utter mess. Caked on dirt and dried blood covered heavy bruising and patches of skin where several feathers were violently torn out. Casting their eyes downward, both feet were bruised and cracked while their beak appeared slightly bent out of place.

A blaring siren snapped their attention back to the City. For a second they thought a police car had spotted them, but nothing of the sort happened. The siren indeed originated from the police, but they were forcing another car to move faster at the Cheezers drive-thru. From the angry yelling, apparently the car in front was taking too long to choose from the menu.

Of course the police wouldn't help. Even through their special connections, the City's finest would have an incredibly hard time believing their story. In fact, they would be surprised if anyone did, given the circumstances. Yet there was one group of people they knew who specialised in the… irregularities… within the City.

Having gathered up their load once more, the figure, evidently of the avian species, made their way towards the Park. The searing pain in their legs only seemed to increase, and they were unsure whether it was their deteriorating condition, reluctance to go there, guilt over the situation, or a sickening combination of both. The latter seemed the most logical option. Eventually it became too much and they stopped once more, pressing against the steel fence surrounding the Park. The faintest glimmer of a tear welled up in their one good eye, and would've easily fallen had they not been so dehydrated. Maybe they should think this over. Maybe… a few minutes rest…

The pain had become too much, and they began to slump downwards, almost dropping the large object. Now on both knees, their body screeched from within to stop and sit down for a little while. However tempting it was, they also knew doing so would surely have fatal consequences. If they closed their eye and gave in, they knew the chances of waking up again were virtually nil.

With all their might, the bird pulled itself back up. What should've been an ear-splitting cry of utter agony escaping their throat was but a barely audible squeak. With their bundle in both wings, they slowly hobbled forward through the Park's main entrance.

As they followed the path, the trees seemed to blur and fuse with one-another. Each step became harder, and a spinning sensation threated to pull them off-balance. But they couldn't, no, _wouldn't_ give in. Not yet at least. Not with a few hundred metres to go.

At last, after what felt like an eternity, they could see the Park House in the distance. It looked as though the morning meeting had already started, as many of the workers sat upon the steps outside. Before them stood a faintly red figure. They squinted. It was Benson, the short-tempered gumball machine. He addressed each worker with their chores for the day.

'…And one more thing…' They could hear Benson turn to a blur of brown and black. '…If you see that slacker Mordecai at any point during the day, tell him not to bother turning up for the rest of the week!'

'Aww, what? You mean he gets a week off and I don't?!' The blur, now unmistakably the short racoon named Rigby sulked.

'Yes, but it's more than a week off. He'll be getting a permanent vacation because he's FIRED!'

The bird, while their vision getting worse, could just make out the other workers ignore Benson and turn towards them.

'And the same goes for everyone too! Now I know we've all been through a lot lately, but that's no excuse for dropping the ball. The Park isn't going to maintain itself, so I…' Benson paused to see everyone staring forward in shock. '…What? Why aren't any of you listening to me?! What could possibly have you all so enthralled that it…?'

Benson turned towards the cloaked bird.

'Holy cr-!'

The word barely escaped Benson's mouth as the new arrival stepped forward. A sharp pain ran up their left leg, causing them to trip over the cloak and fall forward, throwing the bundle ahead. As they did so, the cloak ripped down the middle, reveal a very familiar face to the Park crew. They immediately leapt from the stairs and bolted towards the avian, now a crumpled heap on the grass.

The ringing in their ears was now replaced with the shouts and screams of the workers. They couldn't make out what they were saying, but they presumed each worker was asking if they were okay and what had happened. All the bird could do was release a faint squeak from their cracked throat.

A louder, proper scream hit their ears like a brick. Rolling their good eye forward, the bird could faintly make out one of the workers lift the discarded blankets to reveal a bloodied beak and several mangled feathers. Their eye rolled back upwards towards the blurry figures of multiple colours and sizes staring down at them.

Their breathing sharpened and the avian's body violently convulsed. The blurred figures soon merged and twisted as the cold embrace of darkness finally enveloped their broken body. For a few fleeting seconds, the last thing crossing their mind sounded like a faint name being called. Their name.

'No, M...r…a…!'


End file.
